


the definition of progress

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Any Route, Character Study, Gen, Lost and Found Zine, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28486896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: hello! this was my piece from Lost and Found zine; i wrote about Petra and her Annotated Dictionary. This zine was a pleasure to be a part of, and Petra is one of my favorite characters so getting to write this was a true treat. Thank you so much for reading!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	the definition of progress

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this was my piece from Lost and Found zine; i wrote about Petra and her Annotated Dictionary. This zine was a pleasure to be a part of, and Petra is one of my favorite characters so getting to write this was a true treat. Thank you so much for reading!

They take back the monastery and the first thing Petra does is find her favorite tree. It’s a comfort, to know that it hasn’t changed, and she climbs higher than she ever did back in her days at the academy. It’s not Brigid, but there is still a temporary and comforting goodness to be found here. The branches wave around her, rustling in the breeze. It has no sunshine or warmth, not like in Brigid, but it still tangles in her hair and brings a smile to her face.

She would have been content to stay up there for hours, but there are storm clouds gathering. She’ll catch cold if she stays out in the rain, and so she reluctantly climbs back down. There are other matters to attend to, decisions to make and people to send word to, but such things can wait till morning. They all deserve a moment’s respite.

The monastery has changed too, which is only to be expected. Five years is a very long time, even for Petra, who has grown used to always counting down the days to something. This is the way you measure a life: you pick something in the future, and then you live for it.

As a child, she lived for her return to Brigid. Now, she hardly knows what she’s living for. The end of the war, perhaps? She makes her way across the monastery grounds, the only thing accompanying her a rumble of thunder. Petra ducks under the overhang in front of the dormitories just as the rain starts to fall. It’s heavy, the kind of frigid rain that they don’t have in Brigid. It’s another reminder of just how far away she is from home. Still, the reunion has been worth it, as had been seeing her beloved professor and former friends.

Petra runs a hand through her hair, which has grown even longer in the past five years. There’s a lot to be done, but for now, she can allow herself a few minutes of solitude and peace. The rain doesn’t look like it’ll let up anytime soon, and even underneath the cover provided by the upstairs balcony, she’s still getting hit with the occasional raindrop.

With a heavy sigh, Petra turns and realizes that her feet have led her back towards her old room. The door stands in front of her, a little lopsided in its frame, just like always. She touches it with a fond hand, tracing a deep scratch from a demonstration with her sword that had gone horribly wrong.

The door scrapes loudly against the stone floor as she shoves her shoulder against it. It takes more perseverance than she’d expected, but it opens after a good hard push. She sighs, rubbing a toned bicep and stepping into the room that was her home for the better part of a year. It looks just as she remembers it, down to the worn corner of the rug. Petra steps further into her room, dragging a finger through the dust coating the top of her desk.

Her blinds are closed, and she opens them to peer outside, the rain still pounding relentlessly against the windowpane. It’s not too bad as far as storms go, but still, Petra is glad to be indoors. 

She turns away from the window, looking on the rest of her room with a warm, nostalgic feeling. It’s comfortable to be able to live in a memory for a few minutes, even in the midst of a war.

Her bedside table stands untouched. She would be surprised if anyone at all had set foot in her room over the past five years. Her notebook still sits there, next to a long-dried inkwell and a crooked quill. It’s almost as if she could grab her things and be off to class, ready for whatever Professor Byleth has in store for that day.

Perhaps most touchingly, her dictionary is still there, dogeared and worn to death. It was a parting gift from her grandfather, pressed into her hands before she got on the boat to the Empire. In many ways, that little dictionary is almost another piece of her family.

If she stares at it for long enough, she can remember it all: the frantic days in Enbarr pouring over it, trying to force the words to make sense. There’s a note in the front, scribbled in her mother tongue by her grandfather and reminding her that no matter where she goes, Brigid goes with her. Perhaps the same could be said of the book standing before her. In many ways, they’re one and the same. They’re both caught in specifics, once-simple words becoming complicated, drawn out things. They’re both alone, one of a kind in a place that does not particularly value such a thing.

When she was younger, she’d carried it everywhere, tucked into her pocket as she made her way through the fearsome thing that was the Enbarr nobility. She’s long since passed the need for such a crutch, but still, a comfort is a comfort. 

Petra, Queen of Brigid, smiles down at the little book. It’s well-loved, with battered pages and a cracked spine. There’s a faint sheen of dust over the cover, and she wipes it off with her hand. 

“It has been a long time.” She sits down on her bed, leafing through the delicate pages. There are notes scrawled in the margins, half-written phrases in Fodlan’s tongue that turn into Brigid’s language halfway through.

She runs her thumb over a rather lengthy note about the difference between passed and past, smiling softly to herself. The language of Fodlan is inane and difficult to understand, and she doubts she’ll ever truly be able to understand every one of its intricacies. It will never flow from her tongue the way that her native language does, but she finds that she does not mind.

There is so much here she will never understand. Still, there is good in the world, even in the midst of this war. Petra closes her once dearly beloved dictionary and hugs it to her chest the way a child would a stuffed animal.

This is what she will live for: not the end of a war, or her return to Brigid. She’ll live for knowledge, for continuing to grow. Petra traces her fingers over another piece of writing scrawled into her dictionary, this time one in her mother tongue complaining at length about the illogical sentence structure employed in Fodlan. Her younger self’s annoyance brings a smile to her face, and she resolves to keep working. The war will continue to rage on, but she will live to learn, to become the best Queen she can be, and that is the best that she can hope for.

Outside, it has finally stopped raining, and Petra leaves her former bedroom with a spring in her step. Her dictionary is clutched firmly in her hands, and as she makes her way towards the stairs leading to the second floor of the monastery, she resolves to bring it with her to their next battle. There is always knowledge to be gained, and a reminder of that will go a long way towards her future.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @edelgardlesbian


End file.
